


Familiar Weight

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Series: Sigh No More [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Relationship, and sometimes youre both gay and also need to watch princess bride with your best friend, sometimes youre really Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: If Aziraphale didn't want a relationship with him, well that wasfine, really it was, Crowley could deal with that. He would mope, it's what he did. But he'd get over it, as he had in the past, and they'd continue on with their friendship as they always had.He just ... needed some time. Because it wasfine, but it also hurt, and he needed to sit with that alone.'Alone' being the key word. Which can't exactly be accomplished by Aziraphale turning up at his doorstep with a fluffy blanket and ice cream and a horribly out-of-date VHS copy of The Princess Bride.





	Familiar Weight

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this .............. in 3 hours. not even god can stop me now

Moping wasn’t technically one of the seven sins, but Crowley could do it better than anyone. He didn’t need demonic intervention to get that sense of deep existential angst one feels when one is heartbroken. If he could’ve gotten a commendation for “best at feeling absolutely anguished and doing nothing productive about it”, he would’ve applied ages ago. Or … at least before all this. Before the Apocalypse that wasn’t.

He didn’t think he’d be getting any sort of commendations now. He was no longer on Downstairs’ “worst in the best way” list. Just the worst. Bottom of the barrel.

He rolled over in bed, using a minor miracle to fill up his glass on the nightstand with water, specifically so he could not drink it. Just so the water felt ignored. His body was physical, no matter his state of immortality, and lying in bed for days on end had left him with aches and pains. His wings were out so they could become messed and ruffled and tangled in the sheets. He was doing a very good job of this moping business, he thought. It was a shame no one was around to witness it. If a tree falls in the forest, and all that.

Of course, just to add to the irony of the thought, that’s when he heard a knock on the door. He was used to missionaries coming knocking—he encouraged it, actually. He loved inviting them in and leading the conversation in circles until they left feeling confused and dismayed.

He wasn’t up for it today, though. He didn’t want the satisfying thrill of the minor inconveniences he could cause. He didn’t want any sort of thrill at all. He rather did just want to be glum, with an upset feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His fingers waved, and the raving bark of large dogs sounded by the entrance—snarling and snapping of foaming jowls.

Even from his bedroom, he could hear the sigh.

“You don’t _have_ dogs, Crowley. I’d like to come in now.”

Crowley sat up, heart beating an uncomfortable thud. Aziraphale was at once the last person on the Earth he wanted to talk to right now (minus all the other celestial creatures who might be out and about) and the only person he desperately craved to see. Once they’d gotten past the initial high of saving the world and saving each other, things had gotten … awkward. Strained. At least on Crowley’s end, they had. Aziraphale didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

“Go away, angel,” Crowley grumbled, knowing his muffled voice would carry perfectly well to the angel’s ears. “I’m sick.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You are not.”

“I _am_ ,” he protested. “Horrible demon flu. Coughing up frogs and all that.”

The door unlocked, and in the few seconds before it was opened, Crowley had half a mind to lock him back out. It was a battle of wills at that point, and Crowley didn’t have it in him to put up much of a fight.

“I’m coming in,” Aziraphale said, unnecessarily.

Crowley sighed to himself, as dramatic as he could, and pulled his blanket back around his shoulders. He shuffled into the open doorway, facing Aziraphale as he shut the front door and turned.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Your wings look terrible. Maybe you really are sick.”

“What do you want?” Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale flashed him a strained smile. “Well, you hadn’t returned my calls. Bit worried Downstairs had gotten you after all. But it seems, uh …” He gave a little wave at the mussed wings and the blanket. “You’ve been keeping yourself occupied.”

Crowley swallowed, not deigning to comment.

“That’s quite alright, though,” Aziraphale continued. “I’ve brought supplies for just the occasion.”

And he tapped on the briefcase he’d held by his side, and crossed into the living room.

“Supplies?” Crowley muttered. His head tipped back and forth while he wondered if it was worth it. His chest already felt lighter, even as his stomach turned to knots, and frankly, he’d rather go back to the achy, empty feeling of a few minutes ago. He was quite good at that feeling. He’d taken 6,000 years to master it. “Ugh, blast him,” he finally growled, and followed.

Aziraphale was standing and waiting for him, hands crossed, smiling pleasantly when the demon joined him. The briefcase was sat on the coffee table, unopened.

Crowley eyed it with suspicion. “Scotch?” he asked.

“Not quite.” He leaned down to click the latches open, clearly taking his time. “You know, for a demon, you’re quite bad at indulging yourself.”

“Bad at a lot of things,” Crowley shot back, and Aziraphale’s eyes glanced to his for only a second.

“But, no matter,” he continued, as if the comment hadn’t been made, “for I’ve brought just the things.”

Crowley didn’t want to be curious. He didn’t even want Aziraphale to be here. He didn’t want anything except a restless sleep and perhaps some sporadically noisy neighbors. Just to really make the experience worthwhile.

But, he was. Heaven be damned, he was.

He crossed over to examine the objects Aziraphale was pulling out of the briefcase. A thick, knit blanket. Some mugs. A pack of cocoa. A few cartons of ice cream—cookie dough flavor—still frozen. Some very fuzzy socks. And a copy of _The Princess Bride_ , on VHS of all things.

“It’s a miracle that all fit in there,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale shot him a smile.

“What, are you going to tattle on me?”

The _“maybe I will”_ was on the tip of his tongue, but in his mind’s eye he could feel the hot sting of hellfire, and Gabriel’s grimace of a smile, and he let the comment die.  

Aziraphale shook out the blanket, lying it on the leather couch.

“Where are your spoons?” he asked, moving into the open kitchen, and then proceeded to open the exact right drawer.

“Aziraphale—”

“Ah,” he said, grinning. “I found them.”

He returned with two spoons, and set them down next to the ice cream as he picked up the VHS.

The TV, Crowley thought with a tinge of bittersweet victory, had no port for it.

“Hm. This won’t do,” the angel muttered to himself. He held up the VHS, one hand to his lips as he thought, and then just … pushed it into the TV screen. Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but the TV clicked on obediently, and the advertisements began to play. His mouth clamped shut.

Aziraphale moved back over to him, where Crowley was standing dumbly by the coffee table.

“Well? Sit.”

He waved to the couch. Crowley did nothing but stare.

“I didn’t bring any, um … ‘Snuggies’. Those were one of yours, weren’t they? I thought that might be pushing it.”

Crowley could feel his days without drinking in the dryness of his tongue. He struggled to swallow, closing his eyes for a moment. He wished he had his glasses, but didn’t feel like using the energy to call up a pair.

“Aziraphale …” he finally managed. Aziraphale stared at him patiently. “What are you doing?”

It looked like it took an effort for the smile to cross Aziraphale’s face. Perhaps the angel had finally gotten the memo on the ‘strained and awkward’ thing.

“Well,” he started, “usually when you disappear like this, it’s because you’re moping over something. But you’re rather terrible at it, dear boy, and I thought this time I would intervene.”

Crowley’s jaw worked as he thought of an answer. He wanted to scream, to give into the deadly sin of wrath and yell, _yes! yes, you stupid angel, of course I’m moping—it’s because of you!_ but he didn’t. That would lead to a productive conversation, which was far beyond Crowley’s capabilities at the moment. So he twitched his lips and replied, “I like to think I’m good at it.”

“Mm. Quite,” Aziraphale responded, squinting his eyes in a faux smile. “Well, are you going to stand there all day?”

Somewhat petulant, Crowley plopped back onto the couch, wings draping over the back, and snatched up the blanket Aziraphale had brought. It was … heavenly soft, if you’ll pardon the phrase, and his fingers stilled in appreciation of it.

Aziraphale hummed in contentment and sat down next to him, leaning forward to grab one ice cream carton and the spoons.

“Not hungry,” Crowley muttered.

“That isn’t the point,” Aziraphale informed him, “drowning your sorrows in—well—ungodly amounts of sugar is the point. And if you share the carton instead of having your own, you can pretend you haven’t eaten as much as you have. Little trick I’ve picked up on.”

The carton was shoved into his hands, and the chill of it raised bumps on his arms. The spoon was offered next, and Crowley glumly took it and began to eat.

It … wasn’t bad. He didn’t usually go for food, and tended to like savory over sweet when he did. But the texture of the cookie dough chunks was pleasant, and the ice cream was cold and smooth.

“Now, this movie,” Aziraphale started, hands rising to gesture, “was originally a book, you see. Penned by William Goldman and published in 1973. It found its own success, but the _film_ , well it really was a hit. It’s now considered to be a ‘cult classic’ and has quite the following. It’s the perfect film for a gloomy-hearted day.”

Crowley shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth in lieu of responding, glad that it was good at least for that purpose.

The movie started to play, and the lights in the flat seemed to, almost by themselves, dim to the perfect degree. It was with a bitter taste on his tongue that Crowley noted the almost cavalier way the angel was using his miracles. They may have scared off Heaven and Hell for the moment, but Aziraphale wasn’t even trying to be cautious.

Cough cough. Baseball noises. The movie was drowned out by the sudden wash of Crowley’s thoughts. Why was Aziraphale even here, sitting not six inches from him, acting like nothing was wrong? Was he really that obtuse? He’d hoped the angel would get the hint and leave him alone, at least for a while, at least until Crowley could carefully shove down all his feelings and get on with the whole friendship thing, as he’d done in the past. He only needed to mope for … oh, maybe a good month or so. They’d gone much longer without seeing each other. It’s not like this hadn’t happened before.

He was startled from his thoughts as Aziraphale reached over and took the carton, taking a few spoonfulls himself before putting it back in Crowley’s frozen hands.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s mouth as he sucked the last of the ice cream from the curved metal surface.

_“That day she was amazed to discover that when he was saying ‘As you wish’, what he meant was, ‘I love you.’ And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back.”_

The ice cream carton clunked onto the table, and Crowley let the blanket slip from him as he stood.

“I’m going back to bed.”

Aziraphale huffed behind him. “Oh, don’t be so difficult, Crowley.”

The demon spun with vengeance, wings puffing and feathers standing on end. “ _Me_? I’m the one being difficult? You’re the one who’s broken into my house and forced all this on me.”

Aziraphale’s lips pulled taught. “Yes. Perhaps that was unfair.”

“I mean- Why are you even here, really? What is all this?”

His hand waved half-heartedly at the briefcase and its supplies. “I just wanted to help you feel better.”

“Well, it’s not.”

His hand dropped. His mouth opened and closed as he looked away. “Well,” he said, voice quiet. “Is it too much, then, that I just wanted to see you?”

Crowley’s wings dropped. The fight left his body, and he looked away. “A bit.”

“Look, I know I- that I had a hand in—” His hand rose to motion towards Crowley. “-all this. I just … Well, forgive me, but I didn’t want to stay away.”

Crowley sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I just need some time.”

“Well, this time, I don’t want to give it to you.”

Frustration bubbled up in Crowley’s chest. “You can’t just pick and choose. You can’t—” His teeth ground shut.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and the way his voice broke on the name forced the demon to look back. “I understand you’ve had a hard week, and some of that was because of me. But I’ve had quite the go of it too, and right now all I want is to be with my best friend.”

Crowley bit his tongue. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? Or at least part of it. _Best friend_. It had taken him almost 6,000 years to admit it, but that wasn’t what he wanted out of their relationship. Maybe actually saying that would’ve been helpful, but he felt like he couldn’t have been more clear with his intentions. And that’s how it always went. Crowley would put out the feelers, make a suggestion, an offer, and Aziraphale would shut it down. And he could live with that, he could. It _hurt_ like anything, but he was coping. He’d respect Aziraphale’s wishes and his boundaries and anything else. He just needed time. All he wanted was a little time.

“I _asked_ you—” Crowley started, and then had to stop, as his voice had taken on a choked quality. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I asked you to go away with me. We would’ve had all the time in the world. And you said no. _You_ did. So I waited. I asked again. You said no. I just need a little space.”

The smile that rose to Aziraphale’s face was too watery to even be considered a smile at all. “The _world was ending_ , Crowley. And we stopped it, the two of us. If we’d left, only She knows what would’ve happened.”

“And after, I- After it was over, I thought … Maybe now.”

“Crowley—”

“But the thing is, Aziraphale, that I shouldn’t have thought- I shouldn’t have _hoped_ , because you always say no. And that’s—it’s fine! It is! I just … it _hurts_ , too. Maybe that’s … maybe that’s not on your radar, one of your heavenly senses, but …” He looked down. “It just hurts. And you have to let me deal with that.”

When he looked back up, he was ashamed to find tears in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Do you think it doesn’t hurt _me_ , too?” Aziraphale stared at him, a little fire in his eyes. The breath stilled in Crowley’s lungs. “That I—Heaven forbid—that I get anything out of it but pain? Do you think it doesn’t kill me to say no, every time? The last thing on this world I want to do is hurt you, Crowley, and I hate myself, truly, when I do.”

Crowley’s wings shook, and he pulled them back into his shoulder blades, afraid of what they’d show. The coffee table met his backside a little too hard, and he wrung his hands together.

“My dear, do you think I don’t _want_ to say yes?”

His yellow eyes shot up, locking onto Aziraphale’s. He knew they were yellow all through where the white was supposed to be, and he’d be embarrassed about it if he had the focus.

But he didn’t, because the only thing he was thinking about was the wetness of the angel’s eyes and the wobble of his lips.

“Then _why_ —” His voice rasped, and he swallowed and started again, “Then why didn’t you say yes?”

Aziraphale’s breath huffed out of him, sad and wet. He looked away for a moment before patting the couch cushion beside him.

Cautiously, Crowley moved beside him. His body was taught, only growing stiffer as Aziraphale reached over and took his hand.

“I had a dream once,” he started, both of his hands wrapped around Crowley’s, thumbs working over his knuckles and fingers skirting over his palm. “You were always talking about sleeping, and dreaming, and, well, I wanted to try it. This must have been, oh, I don’t know, decades ago, now. There was a war on, and I was so tired. All I wanted to do was sleep.”

He swallowed, and Crowley watched the movement of his throat.

“And so I did. I slept, and I dreamt. And I had a dream that we were _together_ , you and I, in- Well, you know what way. But we were caught, you see. Heaven found us.” His lips pressed together, and his eyes pinched, and Crowley wanted to shush him, and tell him it was okay, that he didn’t have to continue. It wasn’t like Crowley didn’t know where this was going. “Well, they … They killed you, Crowley, to put it bluntly. Not temporarily discorporated, or put at a desk job Downstairs, just- You know. That was it. You were gone, and it was my fault, and I’d never see you again.

“And I woke up, and at first I thought it was the most horrible dream. And then I had the even more horrible thought that perhaps it wasn’t a dream at all, but a _premonition_. You know I love my books of prophecy, and, well, I’m an angel after all, so I thought … what if it was true? What if, should I go down that path, that’s what would become of you?”

His fingers stilled over Crowley’s, like he’d lost himself in thought and had forgotten to keep the movement up. Crowley squeezed his fingers, and the angel shook his head.

“Because, well, this thing we had … It worked, didn’t it? Up until now. Because, angels and demons, we were meant to thwart each other, that’s what we do. And Heaven was fine with me, being here, and you, being here, as long as they thought that’s what was happening. Me, the good and obedient angel, making sure you didn’t stir up trouble. Well, it’s just natural, isn’t it? That’s the way of things. But—think of it, Crowley. What would happen if they thought … if they thought we were _happy_? It’s just not natural. Not to them.”

Crowley didn’t want to think what would’ve happened had they been caught sooner. His mind flashed again to Gabriel’s disdain, for the easy way they’d led him to the fire.

“Why do you care what Upstairs thinks of you?” Crowley whispered, already knowing, and not wanting to hear the answer even as he wanted to hear it all the same. “They … They don’t even _like_ you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s breath stuttered, and a pinch of guilt rose in Crowley’s stomach at causing it. “Yes, well … I’ve come to realize that, now, but … Well, they were supposed to _love_ me, weren’t they? We’re angels, and I thought, well, that that’s rather the point. I suppose you’ll think it’s silly, but … part of me was terrified to lose that.”

Crowley’s eyes stung, and he looked down as he willed the feeling away. He squeezed as Aziraphale’s fingers again. “It’s not silly.”

“No, it was.” The breath came from Aziraphale in a sad little laugh. “Can’t lose what was never yours.”

His eyes drew back up as Aziraphale extracted a hand, wiping at his cheek.

“Did you know that, um, when they found out, Michael and the others, they, um … Well, they hit me, and pushed me against a wall.”

All of Crowley’s hairs stood on end, and he sprung from his usual slouch. “They _what_?”

“No, no.” Aziraphale pulled him back down, patting his hand. “Don’t be angry, it’s fine, really, it, uh … Well, it was good, I think, in the end. It adjusted my priorities, you might say.”

Slowly, Crowley sunk back down. But he could feel the anger dance across his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

Aziraphale nodded, blinking a few times. “What I’m trying to say is … It’s not that I didn’t want to say yes. I was … I was just _scared_ , Crowley. And it was easier to hold you at arms’ length than to confront that.”

Crowley nodded back, staring at his knees. “I’m sorry if I pushed you.”

“No, it … I think I needed the push, the push was necessary. I just wasn’t ready.”

Crowley squinted across the room, trying not to put too much focus on him. The movie had quieted, almost imperceptible, though neither of them had moved to turn it down.

“They’re not watching us, anymore,” Crowley said, and he hated in part how light and hopeful his voice was. “We’re … well, we’re free of them, for the moment. We don’t have to hide, anymore.”

Aziraphale nodded, not looking at him.

“We could—”

“Not today,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley stopped short.

Something rumbled in his chest, some ancient and fresh frustration. “Why?” is all he could ask.

“It’s not the right time.”

Crowley huffed, but didn’t pull his hand away. “It’s been _6,000 years_ , Azira—”

“It’s not the time,” he said again. “I think,” he continued, “that we’ve gained a lot. But we’ve lost a lot, too. And it’s okay to be sad about that. I think we both need a little time to be sad. I know I do, at least.”

And that was when Crowley understood. It’s not that they didn’t want each other, mutually, it was just … Aziraphale was mourning. He was mourning what he thought he had.

Maybe the blanket and the ice cream and the fuzzy socks weren’t for Crowley, after all.

He let the silence sit between them for a few moments, and then the sound of the movie faded back in.

“What’s this movie about, anyway?” he asked.

Aziraphale smiled at him, grateful. “Well, it’s a love story,” he said, voice soft. “But it’s more than that, too. There are fights and adventures, and good friends, and cunning wit. And laughs. There are a lot of laughs, as well.”

“It sounds good,” Crowley said.

“Oh, it is,” Aziraphale agreed, leaning forward to pick up the remote. “I’ll show you my favorite part.”

“Hey,” Crowley protested. “You can’t just go to the good part. It’s all the things leading up that make it good.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, but his smirk did.

Crowley frowned. “You did that on purpose.”

“Perhaps.”

His eyes rolled, though Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him, and he plucked the ice cream carton back off the table. “Wily,” he muttered, holding the carton between them, and Aziraphale hummed in contentment as he took a big bite.

Their hands left each other as Crowley pulled the blanket tighter around the two of them. His wings stretched back out of him, and he let one drop around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Not asking anything, not inviting. Just a familiar weight.

“Oh, this is a good part,” Aziraphale said, thoroughly distracted by the screen.

Crowley watched him, and smiled. He didn’t take any more ice cream, just held it for Aziraphale so he felt like they were sharing. And that’s all it was. Familiar and comfortable. And, Crowley could finally admit, that’s all it needed to be.

Tomorrow might be different. And if it was, they would come to that then, together, as it should be. But for now, they had this, they had each other. If this was what Aziraphale needed from him, not a great love, not right now, just a friend—his _best friend_ —then that’s what Crowley would give him. Things were different now, but some things had stayed the same. And, finally, Crowley was okay with that.


End file.
